LETTER
FOUR
JANUARY
29TH
So
long ago that not matters how drunk I am, I can’t laugh at all. Not from other
drunk fights at Pancho’s cantina neither of the Priest’s sermon at church.
Nothing at all, as I am, nothing.
Today
I saw your mother on my way to the News Paper office, she was opening up the bakery
and sweeping the sidewalk. “Good morning Juan” and I had no other remedy than reply
“Good morning Mrs. Alma”. Since you left in the train I haven’t had such
awkward interaction. Your mother never liked me and I know it, it’s no secret
to anyone. Am not stupid Maria; she had a lot to do with you leaving with him.
And some right to do it too, he will give you a home and provide for you, he can
buy you pretty dresses and pots with huge flowers. What kind of life I could
have given to you? If not the same as
hers, life of working woman from small town, with dry hands of clothe washing,
scratched knees of grinding corn in the stone metate, with bags under the eyes
of countless hours at candle light mending socks.
Yes,
it would have been like that. No more than working people’s living, full of
broken pants and patches, a single pair of shoes and beans for meal. It would
have been like that with me, just walking the parks and markets without buying and seeing
upper class children with their lemon sherbets. Living in poverty and worries. You covered in cooking flour and myself covered in paper ink. With happy noisy
children running everywhere, dirty and mended, but with sunshine smiles like
yours.
Because
with love, even sleeping under a fig's shade… maybe there was no more love
and that’s it.
I
would have given my life for that smile of yours, in some ways am giving it for
you. I lay here in this deep dark abyss and you up there, lighting it all,
surrounded by everything you wished for. A huge garden, a house of your own, a maid
to avoid the scratchy knees, no starched clothes and even a radio.
I
didn’t ran after it and hanged from that train’s window because of your happiness,
as shallow it seems, a vain smile of your is worth so much more than my entire
life for me. I’d die another and thousand times to make you smile. Am rotting
and writhing in pain and all to avoid you to sleep in some old cot the rest of
your life.
Juan
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